


four-stroke cycle

by MidwesternDuchess



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Hana Song is a badass despite Blizz's attempts to bury that fact, I just wanna talk, I know Genji's older but shhh what's a real timeline it's Overwatch, and young dumb military hana, as with everything I write this could be read totally platonic if that's your thing, just an idea I've been kicking around since the Black Cat skin came out, starring young dumb blackwatch genji, tell the person who named this ship cyborgbunny to turn on their location
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 00:44:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15473757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: "Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living." -Johnathan Safran Foer(They meet at an impasse—the proverbial fork. Who were they before they buried themselves beneath all this metal? Who are they now?)





	four-stroke cycle

At this point in his tenure at Blackwatch—which is more or less a month and a half—Genji has learned that appearances can be deceiving.

It's a lesson he learned first with Dr. Ziegler—the slender, pale slip of a woman with fair hair who Genji had immediately branded as unremarkable, save for the brilliant brain that kept her useful. She'd walked into his room upon their first meeting, head bowed over the clipboard in her hands, and he'd waited for her to look up—waited for this unarmed woman to shrink back from him like all the others.

Then she'd turned her eyes on him—and _fuck_ those _eyes_ —sharper than his own sword and drawn to his flaws faster than his face. Genji had swallowed very, very hard.

He'd misjudged Jesse McCree in the same way. Upon their introduction, he'd seen little more than a messy, unsophisticated arms dealer prone to a lucky shot now and again. He'd talked too loudly, dressed too ostentatiously—Genji once spent a summer with a shock of green hair, so he knows damn well what he's talking about—and tried too hard to be everything for everyone. He seemed to be trying to make a brother out of Genji, and considering how things had ended with Genji's _last_ brother, he wasn't exactly in the market for a new one.

Then Genji found the jaw of a Blackwatch agent who had been antagonizing him for weeks mysteriously broken, and McCree nursing a bruised fist with a cocky grin the very same day. Genji had merely quirked an eyebrow.

Commander Reyes had perhaps gotten the worst of Genji's ill-founded verdicts—a tall, brick wall of a man whose steady tones and wise advice and genuine concern clashed with Genji's fresh hatred and anger, and he'd railed against him for no reason other than his unwillingness to accept the help and support so calmly offered to him. He'd disparaged the man in his mind, ducked his gaze when he could, skirted his path at every opportunity until even the young girl—the sniper's daughter, Fareeha—had loudly and unabashedly asked him why he was so afraid of Gabriel.

Then of course Genji had sat and listened as Reyes had vouched for him before a United Nations council—watched as this man who was loyalty and steadfastness personified—put his own honor and prestige at stake in defense of a boy who had done nothing but shun him. Afterwards, when the council had grudgingly agreed to Reyes' terms, Genji had forced himself to quietly thank the Commander, and nearly stumbled when the man replied by placing a heavy hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

And yet despite all this, he can't stop judgment from clouding his vision as he catches sight of a newcomer speaking with the quintessential trio of Overwatch brass—Reyes, Morrison, and Amari—in the Blackwatch hanger.

The girl is short and thin—willowy frame swallowed up by the enormous blue hooded jacket she wears. Her skinny legs sport black leggings with a hole or two, and her shoes look to be clunky and ineffective—high-top sneakers with the laces untied, a blinding shade of yellow with neon pink accents. On her head, she wears a backwards baseball cap. Genji squints. If he's not completely mistaken, the logo it bares is some kind of…glaring rabbit.

"You wanna put him in a _mech?"_

So caught up in his appraisal, Genji nearly misses the girl speaking. She's studying a tablet, appearing completely unaware of his presence while Reyes and Morrison glance up in horrifying unison to meet his eyes where he lurks across the hanger, trying to melt into the shadows cast by a stealth jet.

Amari doesn't look up, but then she doesn't need too—she sees everything.

"Not quite," the sniper murmurs, reaching out to change the image on the tablet. Genji cranes his neck, trying to see what she's looking at, but the angle the girl holds it at obscures his gaze.

"Oh." The girl seems to consider whatever new information she sees, rocking back on her heels, one hand deep in the pocket of her jacket. "You wanna make _him_ the mech."

Genji bristles at the implication—he doesn't know _how_ , but he _knows_ he's the topic of conversation—but the girl chatters on, handing the tablet back to Amari and calling up a handful of holographic screens around her.

"Sure, I mean—Omnic tech is _wicked_ —but it depends on how much of his fleshy bits he's got left, y'know?" She tugs idly on one of the strings of her jacket, while her other hand moves through the air—thin fingers sorting through various holographic screens that Genji can't make out from his distance. "He'd need a helmet, for sure. Probably something to stabilize his spine, because that shit looks wonky as hell—"

"We were hoping you could speak with Dr. Ziegler," Morrison cuts her off as politely as he can. "Perhaps combine your mechanical knowledge with her medical knowledge."

Something about this seems to amuse the girl, Genji notes—her lips tug up in a half-smile as she dismisses the floating screens with a quick, flippant gesture.

"Sure," she agrees easily, dropping her arms. She's restless—fingers of one hand tapping out a rhythm on her hip, while her other hand traces the zipper of her jacket, picking idly at the metal teeth. "But like, you _do_ know she can do that on her own, right? Like, you don't need to spare my feelings or try to make me feel useful or whatever—Angela Ziegler doesn't need anyone's help." She shrugs. "For anything."

Genji can't see the small, sharp smirk that twists Ana Amari's face from his vantage point, but he knows it's there when she says, "If only that were true, Sergeant."

The girl— _S_ _ergeant?_ Genji chooses to ignore that—just shrugs again, and Reyes decides to speak up.

"She designed the suit Genji wears now," he remarks. "If nothing else, maybe you could give it a look and see what you think?"

"Be happy too," the girl agrees affably. "I assume that's him lurking over by the stealth jet, yes?"

Genji goes deathly still—Reyes and Morrison find him again, and this time Amari joins them, her buckshot eyes picking his form out of the darkness with ease.

"So it is," she murmurs, accented voice warm with amusement. "Speak of the devil."

Caught beyond a shadow of a doubt—he should have known better than to bet against Amari's sight—Genji slinks into the open, squinting slightly under the bright lights of the hanger.

The girl studies him curiously for a moment—he can feel her gaze rove over his form—before shrugging, apparently uninterested by the miracle of medical technology that stands before her.

"Neat," she offers, turning her back on him. "Come on, let's take a walk. It's nice out."

Genji hesitates—he had honestly only been trying to eavesdrop on tomorrow's plans regarding the mission to Ilios—but with a somewhat stern look from Morrison, a smirk from Amari, and a firm nod and a glance that all but screams **_behave_** from Reyes, he follows the girl out of the hanger and into the cool Milan evening.

They walk in silence for a moment—conversation not quite possible with her outdistancing him, given her head start and Genji's disinterest in catching up with her—until she stops atop the hill that overlooks Blackwatch's training fields, turning around to face him somewhat expectantly.

"So." Genji bristles on instinct as her eyes—large and brown and bright in the moonlight—meet his. "You're Genji Shimada."

He says nothing. Who else could he be?

"Sergeant Hana Song," she tells him breezily, sticking out a hand. He ignores it, and she doesn't seem surprised, smoothly withdrawing it after a moment to pull a soda can out of the pocket of her jacket. "I'm with MEKA."

Genji has no idea what that means. He also doesn't think he's ever cared less about something. The girl's casual mannerisms—the way she'd nonchalantly discussed something so monumentally important to him—rankles Genji in a way that draws out his worst temperament as they make their way away from hanger and the watchful eyes of their superiors.

Well, _his_ superiors, anyway. The fact that this girl has rank of any kind already puts her leagues above him—the thought annoys him even more

"You are a child," Genji says coldly, and the girl— _Hana,_ not a girl but a _Sergeant—_ just rolls her eyes, popping off the tab of her soda with a practiced flick of her thumb.

"I get that you think you probably look, like, super cool and badass with all that Omnic tech," she says, taking a swig. "But you're obviously not much older than me. And my age doesn't define me, but thanks for playing." Her tone is off-handed and casual—like she's telling off some punk at an arcade and not dishing out sass to the half-dead heir of a clan of assassins.

Genji scoffs out of habit, but his curiosity _is_ piqued. He knows there has to be more to her than what he sees—Reyes had left her out here alone with him while he's fully armed—and Genji can't remember the last time he'd been unaccompanied in the presence of someone who couldn't subdue him should the need arise.

Probably because it had never happened.

She must catch his wandering stare, because her lips quirk up in a harsh kind of smirk—tight, with a few too many teeth.

"I'm a gamer," she explains casually, leaning back against the half-wall that overlooks Blackwatch's training fields. This late at night they're completely empty, and the artificial turf is bathed in an eerie glow by the floodlights stationed around. The aluminum can flashes in the light as she lifts it to her lips. "Professionally," she adds, like that makes any difference.

Genji just stares, irritation darkening his expression. Endlessly clever, their little guest. A gamer. _Honestly_. What does she take him for?

"There's no need to tell such a stupid lie," he says, tone dark with dislike. He folds his arms, glaring out into the inky blackness of the training fields. "I'm the property of a secret organization. I'm familiar with the concept of confidentiality."

Something he says snags—her eyes snap to his sharply in the near-dark, expression suddenly cold.

"You aren't _property,"_ she tells him, and he's caught off-guard by the bite to her words.

"As good as," he retorts, unsure why _he's_ angry in response to _her_ anger, but there it is.

They glare at each other for a moment—Genji's struck by the raw ferocity of her gaze, before it seems to melt back to that coy coolness she'd sported earlier.

"Then let's go." She shrugs away from the wall, arching an eyebrow. "If things are that bad, you shouldn't be here." She takes a swig of her soda, and Genji honestly can't tell if she's joking or not when she lowers the can and tips him a wink. "I'll bust you out."

He gives her a hard look, trying to place her tone. Her smirk implies a joke, but her eyes are staggeringly serious. He resolves to ignore the whole display, folding his arms across his chest and looking away from her.

He counts three merciful seconds of silence before she's speaking again.

"I have a question."

"Of course you do."

"This, not wearing clothes thing—" she gestures helpfully to his half-bare chest "—what's that about?"

Genji bristles. _"What?"_

"Because I'm pretty sure being half-Ominc isn't an excuse to let it all hang out, y'know?" She quirks an eyebrow and Genji glares down at her, bewildered and annoyed. "You're like, _legally_ indecent right now."

Genji honestly _sputters—_ his typical angry indignation can't quite find a handhold on his tongue in his haste to assert the fact that he is _not_ legally indecent, thank you _very_ much, and _who_ does this girl think she is?

She takes another sip of her soda, eyes crinkling with laughter over the top of the can as she smirks at him.

"I _hardly_ think—" he begins.

He breaks off as she chucks the empty soda can at his face—his hand jerks up to catch it before he can even consider the action—and it gives a satisfying _crunch_ as he sinks his metallic fingers into it.

For a brief moment, he debates just throwing the damn thing back at her, but he stays his hand when their eyes catch. Her eyebrow quirks.

"Throw it," she says, inclining her head out towards the training fields.

"What?" Her hand has disappeared up the back of her jacket, and he has a feeling it isn't more sodas she has stowed away there.

She rolls her eyes at his apparent incompetence, miming a throwing action with her free hand.

 _"_ _Throw it,"_ she repeats, more firmly this time, and with a scoff and few idle curses, Genji hurls the can out into the darkness as hard as he can.

It's quickly swallowed up by the dusk that's settled over them, and Genji squints, trying to track it, but his gaze is quickly diverted as Hana rustles with something at her back—a determined cut to her jaw—

In one smooth movement, she's drawn a weapon—a blaster of some sort, with a charm swinging from the butt of it—takes the briefest of aim, and fires.

A brilliant green burst of energy fires out the barrel, streaking through the sky and Genji has exactly one second to consider how fucking _impossible_ this is—

A quiet _ping!_ echoes back to where they stand as she picks the soda can out of the night sky, and he sees shards of aluminum wink as they catch the glow of the floodlights in its resulting burst. Hana tucks her blaster back in the waistband of her pants with a smug grin of satisfaction.

"Like I said." Genji snaps his gaze down to see her stowing the gun away, one hand on her hip, surveying her handiwork—she hardly moved to take the shot. Her eyes cut to his—sharp and bright. "I'm a gamer. _Professionally."_

He moves away from the wall to stand over her—an old intimidation tactic that feels like a reflex—and she just looks up at him without a glimmer of interest, utterly unbothered by the red-eyed creature looming above her.

"You did _not_ learn that from playing games." His voice rattles out from beneath his half-mask with white-hot anger.

"Do you actually think being taller than me makes you _scary?"_ she drawls, lifting an eyebrow. She sounds uninterested—bored. Her hands are back in her pockets, not even reaching for her weapon. "Because in case it somehow escaped your notice, I'm pretty _fucking_ short."

Another stand-off—she refuses to duck his gaze, holding his eyes forcefully. Genji can't remember the last time he'd been challenged like this—even before he'd become a mess of human and Omnic parts, he'd been the damned heir of the Shimada Clan—but this girl doesn't seem to give a shit about any of that.

As she shifts her weight something flashes on the inside of her wrist, and it catches Genji's gaze, arresting his attention until she notices.

"What are you—oh." Spying his object of interest, she pulls up the sleeve of her jacket to reveal a sort of wrist brace with a keypad. She twists her arm to give him a better view, and it glints with a metallic sheen in the artificial lights of the training fields.

"It calls my mech," she explains—unprompted and off-handed—and Genji frowns hard behind his mask.

"It _what?"_

"My _mech,"_ she repeats, rolling her eyes. "Should we switch to a different language? My Japanese isn't great but like, you're _clearly_ not hearing to me—"

"Why do you have a _mech?"_

Something about his question—posed sharply for no reason other than his utter fucking annoyance at her ability to _keep surprising him—_ seems to amuse her, and he watches warily as she lets loose a rather tight smirk.

"Because I have a _slightly_ higher percentage of taking down Omnics while inside it," Hana replies, quirking an eyebrow. "Only slightly though."

His anger deflates—flat lines into disbelief.

"Really." He stares her down, a little unnerved at how evenly she meets his eyes. _"You._ Fight Omnics."

She scoffs at his tone, rolling her eyes up to give him a look of annoyance. "Y'know, for a guy who's gone through all the shit you have, you sure seem to be taken by surprise a _lot."_

Genji huffs a sigh, working to marshal his temper. "I've _fought_ Omnics before, and I hardly think—"

"Not like this you haven't," she says—and there's a sudden catch to her voice, like the scrape of a struck match.

He opens his mouth to rebut, but she's hit some switch on her wrist brace, and Genji watches as a hologram blooms to life between them.

It's enormous. Genji blinks, stepping back on instinct as both he and Hana are bathed in the watery blue glow of a massive, snake-like creature that unfurls from the light put out by Hana's device. It twists within the confines of its projection, flexing its claws, baring its teeth—

"It rose out of the East China Sea three years ago," she explains quietly, and Genji starts at the sound of her voice. "Obliterated the Korean Peninsula and assaulted its neighbors—China, Japan, parts of Russia—only to sink back into the water. We thought it was just…a fluke. A freak accident." She shifts inside her jacket—thin fingers of her free hand tugging on the strings of the hood. "Then it came back. For Korea, specifically."

The name of the country falls from her lips in a way that immediately tells Genji it's home—more than that, even. It's her heart, her judgment, her will. He never had that love for Japan, but he once held it for his own family—it's a staggering, overwhelming kind of devotion.

Genji gives a slow nod. He can't look away from the hologram. Neither can she.

"We made drones—hundreds of them—operated by artificial intelligent to try and destroy it." Here she swallows hard, and Genji realizes she hasn't even gotten to the worst part of the story. The light from the hologram highlights worry lines that mar her forehead.

"So what happened?"

"It _learns."_

Genji's eyes snap to hers, confused.

"The drone's AI couldn't keep pace with the Omnic's," she says. He wonders what she's seeing as she gazes up at the serpentine Omnic winding and writhing between them—wonders what memory she's reliving. Her expression is haunted, and he can tell by the way it sits on her face that it's familiar to her. "So they decided to give them pilots."

Genji frowns. "You're a pilot?" That still doesn't explain the skill and authority this girl touts. And aren't pilots supposed to be…tall?

She heaves a very put-upon sigh, rolling her eyes with exaggeration. "I'm a _gamer,"_ she reminds him. "As I apparently have to keep telling you."

"How does a _gamer—?"_

"The flight controls of the mechs are identical to the ones used in 16-Bit Hero." He snaps his eyes to hers—affronted by her interruption—and is struck by the way her gaze _gleams—_ a stare like a switchblade. She punches a code into the keypad, and the hologram winks out of existence, dousing them with darkness once more.

"A game where I've held the top score for about five years."

Genji balks.

"They put _video game players—"_

"Why are you so hung up on that?" she cuts him off again, hand on her hip. Genji just glowers back. "Yeah, okay, so I'm a gamer. If I can pilot a mech as well as I can—and believe me, I'm pretty damn good at it—why does it matter how I learned?"

Genji just gazes evenly at her, trying to temper his mood, but Hana continues hotly, "People were dying _—my_ people—my friends and neighbors and family!"

"Had you ever been trained in combat?" Genji asks, voice harsher than he intends. "Games might have sharpened your reflexes, but there is more to fighting than—"

She flings her arms wide, exasperated. "Look, _dude,_ just because I'm not, like, a _sword master_ or whatever doesn't make me any less of a fighter than you, okay?" She drops her arms, and they flop to her side with a soft _whumpf_. She suddenly looks very, very small, silhouetted against the training field floodlights as she is.

"I'd die for my country—for the people I care about. Isn't that enough?"

Genji looks away, staring out into the training fields. Hana chases him—sidesteps until she stands before him, and while he could easily dodge her gaze by merely staring over her head, he finds his eyes drawn to her own.

"What do you fight for, then?" she demands—she doesn't raise her voice, but her words still burn—eyes narrowed and too bright in the darkness. "What makes your cause so fucking noble that you have a right to judge mine?"

Genji's voice whips out low and fast. "I _never_ judged your cause."

"But you judge _me."_

He scoffs. "That doesn't make you special."

She mutters something under her breath—so curt and harsh he knows it to be a curse—and looks away, the new angle allowing the floodlights to fall across her face, sharpening the look of annoyance she wears.

"I _should_ kidnap you," she grumbles, half to herself, and Genji starts slightly. "Your head's _way_ too far up your ass."

He bristles again—her unpredictable pace and tone is a stark switch from the typical steady seriousness of Blackwatch.

A moment of silence rolls over them as they both glare off in different directions. Genji keeps waiting for the moment when she'll just throw him a dirty look and march off—nothing's keeping her here, as far as he's aware, and he's been far from polite—but instead she just sighs, crossing her arms and looking up at him, expression distinctly exasperated.

"Look. Dude. Do you want this fancy Omnic suit or not?"

Genji frowns. "What?"

Hana sighs again, waving a hand around a bit wildly. "The whole reason I'm here. Do you want an upgraded suit? One that would let you fight? Well, fight _better,_ anyway." She's watching him closely now—like she can draw the truth out of him without his permission.

Genji's not entirely sure she can't.

"It's your call. I get the feeling you've done a lot of fighting." Her eyes quickly skirt his profile—lingering on some of the raw scars bare in his half-armor. "I'd understand if you didn't want to fight anymore. Overwatch can beg for MEKA's expertise all they want—but if _you_ don't want it, they can choke."

His eyebrow rises without his permission. "Choke?"

Hana shrugs. "Sure. I mean, I'm pretty sure you didn't _really_ mean it when you said you were Blackwatch's property, but that feeling had to come from somewhere." Her hands grow restless again—Genji watches as she fiddles with the cuff of her sleeve, eyes lowered. "I like Commander Reyes, but Morrison…" she trails off, chewing her lip. "He gives me weird vibes. _Win at all costs_ kind of vibes." Her gaze flickers to his, like she's gauging his reaction. He keeps his expression expertly schooled.

"I just—I don't want to act like I know what you've been through. You can't imagine the kinds of things I've seen and done, so I'm not going to do the same to you, but—" she cuts herself off, whisking her hat off for one moment to drag her hand through the long brown locks, staring out into the night closing in around them, huffing out a sigh.

"But?" Genji prompts lightly.

Her eyes cut to his—Genji wonders if he'll ever get used to the immediacy with which she commands his gaze.

"It feels like it's you against the world," she tells him softly. "But sometimes…it's just you against yourself."

Genji doesn't speak for a moment—just lets the many meanings of her words wash over him.

"As long as we're quoting philosophies at each other," he offers quietly. "Have you ever heard that life isn't a game?"

A small smile quirks her lips, and she glances up at him, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ear. She absolutely has heard this before, he surmises. Probably many times.

"I mean, if you treat everything like a game," she says. "What's the difference?"

Genji frowns hard. "When it's your own _life_ at stake—" he begins.

Hana scoffs, shaking her head. "I have to," she interrupts. "I _have_ to have a degree of separation—pretend like I'll just respawn if I go down, act like I've got a bunch of extra lives or whatever—the alternative is too horrifying." She looks up at him, expression disarmingly serious. "I'm too young to die."

 _So was I,_ Genji wants to say, but for the first time that night, bites his tongue. He's not dead—not really. A dead man couldn't be standing out here, in the cool Milan evening, trading barbs with a professional gamer who boasts a shot that rivals a soldier's.

He's not him. But he's not _not_ him either.

"I meant what I said, by the way," she murmurs, drawing Genji's gaze once more. She lifts one eyebrow, assessing him calmly. "You feel indebted to Blackwatch, and I get that. But before you throw yourself out into a conflict like this, maybe know yourself a little better?" She shrugs, features pinched with a sudden flash of pain. "Seems like kind of a waste to risk your life when you haven't even decided what you're living for, you know?"

Genji tilts his head, digesting her words.

"And you?" he asks quietly. "You've weighed the risk yourself?"

Hana nods absently. "My equation was a lot easier," she replies. Busy fingers tap against the brick of the wall they lean against. The girl simply can't sit still, it seems. "I live for Korea or I die for it."

The unshakeable sureness of her words—and the disarming calm with which she speaks them—throws Genji. What would if feel like to care that deeply and honestly for something? He didn't want to die for Hanzo's pride—so what _would_ he be willing to die for?

Then—so fast Genji's hand twitches toward his blade on instinct—Hana lurches forward to seize his good arm, pulling a sharpie out of her pocket and yanking the cap off inelegantly with her teeth.

He jerks away, but she tugs right back, and after a brief stare down, he surrenders and lays his arm flat in her hands.

"Soda, sharpies, a _gun…"_ he watches her scribble down a set of numbers on the pale expanse of his skin. "What else do you have in your pockets?"

"Everything," is her prim response. "And I don't keep my gun in my _pocket,_ that'd be _stupid."_

His lips curve in the makings of a smirk, but it falls as she pulls away, admiring her handiwork as she looks over what he can only assume is her phone number scrawled across his arm.

"There." She pockets the pockets the pen with a pleased expression. "Now you can call me or something?"

Genji bends his arm to inspect the number, lifting an eyebrow at her wording. "Or something?"

She rolls her eyes, flapping him quiet. "You know what I mean. Text me. Send me a picture of your dinner. Write me angsty poems about how much you hate the gorgeous rolling hills of Milan. I don't know." She shrugs. "You need a friend, dude. Like, desperately."

His expression sours—he _does not_ need a friend—but she smiles softly and knocks her hip against his, their contrasting heights making the action a little awkward.

"We'll come up with a code for when you want to be busted out of here," she tells him, leaning close into his space, voice low and conspiring. "We'll call it, like, jailbreak or something."

"Not a very complicated code," he murmurs back, playing along at least partially.

She groans and pulls away—her eye roll so completely over-the-top and dramatic he almost cracks a grin.

 _"_ _Fine,"_ she bites out in a tone that holds absolutely no heat. "Since _you're_ so clever, _you_ can decide what the code is."

Genji is about to reply—can feel a sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue, and it tastes so familiar, so like _him—_

A figure approaches—Genji suddenly hears the crunching of grass and his whole demeanor shifts and darkens as a man in a stiff uniform stops a few feet away.

"Sergeant Song."

Hana turns, and Genji watches—transfixed—as the girl's casual stance snaps into a formal salute.

"Sergeant Jo," she greets the man, the timbre of her voice lower and steadier than it has been all evening.

He nods, and Hana drops the salute.

"We're leaving soon—you done?"

She gives him a firm nod and the man's gaze skims over Genji for a moment before he turns to leave, and Hana follows suit.

Genji stands alone at the half wall a bit awkwardly for a moment—does he say goodbye?—when Hana's voice drifts back.

"You should check out my stream sometime," she calls to him. He can _hear_ the shit-eating grin in her voice, so help him. She tosses a throwaway glance over her shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Maybe you could learn something."

He pulls a face, bewildered. "Stream?"

"I'm a _gamer!"_ she shouts back at him, the anger in her voice belied by her grin. _"Profess—!"_

"I know!" Genji interrupts, smirking below his face-plate. _"Professionally."_

Her answering smile is dazzling. Then she holds up a fist—thumb stuck between her middle and index finger—and vanishes over the hill after her fellow solider.

**Author's Note:**

> _**knock knock** guess who it is with a fic that nobody asked for and shouldn't have taken four fuckin' months to write???_
> 
> so things have been rough. very very rough. but in a new game I call Stop Being A Bummer On Main, I'm just gonna say the worst isn't quite over, but a lot of good stuff has happened and things are starting to even out. my motivation to write took an obvious hit since it's been uh _checks notes_ a cool four months since I've posted something but hey! I'm here and you're here and this fic is mediocre at best but dammit I'm trying lmao
> 
> anyway hi my name's Duch welcome to Headcanon Land:
> 
> 1) Angela Ziegler is a fucking icon and people everywhere look up to her, but particularly young girls interested in science and medicine, such as Hana Song
> 
> 2) I know skins don't have any bearing on canon or lore _(nothing_ in Overwatch seems to have any bearing on canon or lore) but I like to think D.Va's Junker skin implies that, should the need arise, she could totally recreate her mech out of spare garbage lying around, thus implying she's handy as hell with mechanics. Going further with that, we know Hana's skill as a pilot is credited to her skill as a gamer, but I like to think gamers proposed themselves to the military and not the other way around. I think it makes much more sense that Hana herself built some sort of prototype that utilized the controls from 16-Bit Hero
> 
> 3) Genji and Hana are much closer in age and are absolute nightmares to each other for no reason other than they can be
> 
> ~~4) I hate the Black Cat skin and I know that's not a headcanon but goddammit Blizz give me a Sgt. Song skin I'm fucking begging you please~~
> 
> _Like this piece? Here’s my billboard!_
> 
> **[MORE OVERWATCH WRITING](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/works?fandom_id=3406514) **
> 
> **[MAIN/PERSONAL BLOG](http://reduxroyal.tumblr.com/) **
> 
> **[WRITING DUMP](http://dominodebt.tumblr.com/) **
> 
> **[PRIVATE TWITTER (where I yell about fic](https://twitter.com/reduxwriter) **
> 
> **[REGULAR TWITTER (where I yell about everything else)](https://twitter.com/reduxroyal) **
> 
> **heart y'all five ever and hope to see you soon <3**


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